


Curiosity

by karanguni



Series: Tseng Topping Everyone [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/pseuds/karanguni
Summary: Leslie's sixteen and he's never once even thought about looking up.
Relationships: Leslie Kyle/Tseng
Series: Tseng Topping Everyone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908232
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Curiosity

Leslie's pale, like a lot of other kids his age. Why wouldn't he be? None of them know what sunlight feels like. What's a kid to do? 

In the slums, the answer's always try to survive, isn't it? 

* * *

Leslie doesn't _want_ to be a Wall Market kid; who does? There's nothing stopping him from walking away, but where is he going to go? Sector 5 and Sector 7 might _look_ welcoming, but they're full up and everyone there knows how to defend their turf. Leaf House kids will wait until their teachers' backs are turned before beating the shit out of you and chasing you right out of there if you try to sell a sob story at their gates. They have bats with nails in them. 

There aren't enough places for everyone and people won't give up what they have. Leslie can respect that. He doesn't try to edge in.For him and everyone else around him – castaway kids who inherit their futures from gangster fathers and Honeybee mothers – the walls are the limits of the world. Leslie's sixteen and he's never once even thought about looking up.

Shit, after all, rolls downhill. Leslie figures that has to be a natural law. One thing he _is_ good at is staying away from the spray when it all hits the fan. He wouldn't have made it this far in life otherwise; he'd be hooked on hits of _mako high_ or selling his ass on the streets. Leslie doesn't want to end up going down those roads. Mako makes you crazy, and there's too much competition for one skinny kid to cut in on the good money from upper Plate women slumming it for a night.

Leslie's pretty sure that the one thing he's got going for him is being able to _think_ , but it's hard to earn gil just by using your brain. It's getting harder and harder to stay out of the stream of Wall Market politics; he's going to have to choose what to do with the rest of his (probably short) life soon. Surviving down here means declaring your allegiances.

It's one a.m. and the night's finally getting started. Leslie, fresh off of some courier work that's paying for the room he lives in but not much else, lifts a wallet off of a drunk Plate sightseer too busy retching to object. There's enough gil in the guy's wallet for a Wall Marketer's idea of a late lunch.

A few skewers of questionable meat acquired, Leslie heads up to one of the quieter roof decks and looks down at the hustle and bustle below, trying to think. All his friends are signing up and moving on. They aren't kids anymore. What's it going to be for him? 

SOLDIER? Screw that; if he wanted to be legit he'd have signed up _long_ ago. Rumour has it the pay is great, but only if you make it out alive. Something closer to home, maybe. The Triads? Sam's smuggling setup? Informant for Madam M? Eke a living out working businesses catering to the idiot tourists? 

Leslie bites off the final chunk of his meal and tosses the skewers over the edge of the roof with a sigh. It'd be good to work for Corneo, but the Don doesn't hire just anyone. You usually have to make it in the Coliseum first, be a real bruiser, and – ha – fists aren't his forte. 

Speaking of shit rolling downhill, though: there's trouble right now. Leslie spots a flash of a dark suit and white cuffs and, well, _someone's_ in trouble if a Turk is showing his face around these parts. 

Curiosity killed the cat. Later on, Leslie thinks he should have remembered that.

* * *

Tailing the Turk is easy. No one wears a suit like that in Wall Market, for one, and most of the locals try hard to be doing anything else other than looking at one of Shinra's worst and darkest at work. This one's got long dark hair to match the uniform; Leslie wonders if he can keep it that long because he's just that good at what he does. Maybe you have to be a certain level of badass to leave yourself open to getting your hair grabbed: General Sephiroth sure hammered that message home back in the day. 

The Turk's heading up towards Corneo's mansion, but via the back routes, avoiding the madness of the main drag like a pro. He's good, but Leslie's better: the Turk doesn't catch on to the fact that he's being followed. Eventually he hits the high wall that blocks off the Don's "garden" from the rest of the world. People who get their rocks off listening to Corneo playing with his food sometimes come to loiter on this side. Leslie's wondering if the guy's just lost when a side gate he hadn't even known existed opens up – turns out that pile of junk in the corner isn't really just junk after all – and one of the Don's flunkies eels his way out. 

'Time's up,' the Turk says, his voice all easy. It's the kind of nonchalant that makes Leslie's skin crawl. 'You haven't held up your end of the deal, Altti.'

'It ain't easy what you're asking me to do, you know,' Altti protests, coming closer but stopping out of arm's reach of the Turk. He looks nervous. 'It's not a piece of cake hacking into the Don's system. He uses experts!'

'I thought you were an expert,' the Turk retorts. He chuckles. Fuck, Leslie wonders if he's going to watch someone die tonight. 

'He's going to be going to the Saucer next weekend, I can swing it then,' Altti says. 'Just gimme one more week.'

'I already gave you one more week.' The Turk looks down at his hands and pulls his gloves on more tightly. 'This is, in fact, the third week, and I'm getting tired of not seeing results.' Leslie's close enough to them that he thinks he can hear the leather squeak. 

'By Saturday!' Altti pleads. 'I swear!'

'Perhaps I should take your unwillingness to accomplish the simple task I set for you as a sign that you need more motivation,' the Turk continues, ignoring him completely. 

Leslie blinks and the Turk's not where he was: the Turk is behind Altti, and has a hand in Altti's hair, and a knee in Altti's side, and before Leslie can really register how quickly it's happened Corneo's man is curled up on the ground wheezing in pain. The Turk slams a foot into his ribs for good measure, and Leslie wishes he could unhear the noises Altti makes.

The Turk reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a packet of cigarette. He lights up like he's on a smoke break, leaning against the wall as Altti pukes onto the already-filthy ground. 'What happens if you miss your Saturday deadline?' he asks. 

Altti's too busy wheezing to answer. Leslie figures this is a good time to go; he doesn't want to bear witness to whatever it is that might come next. Don't fuck with the Turks: he should have known better. He tries to creep away back down the alleyway. He can't: he's frozen in place. 

Fear that had already been churning at the base of his gut explodes up the length of Leslie's spine.

'Come out, little one,' the Turk calls, voice a touch sing-song. Leslie feels his limbs move against his own will; hell, this has got to be materia, that subversion shit that gets used way too much at the Honeybee, but when had this guy even had the time to cast it? And why hadn't he felt it? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Leslie finds himself dragged out of his hiding place. He comes to a stop in front of the Turk. 

'What do we have here?' the man asks, circling him. 'A little sewer rat.' 

The feeling of being exposed makes the hair on the back of Leslie's neck stand as much as the sound of the guy stepping on Altti's fingers and probably breaking them does. Distantly, Leslie wonders if Corneo or whoever else might be on the other side of the wall is enjoying the show Altti is putting on, crying and whimpering. 

The Turk comes around to the front of Leslie. He takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales, smoke streaming up into the night. 'It's rude not to introduce yourself,' he prompts.

Leslie works his jaw. He manages to swallow against the knot in his throat. 

'My name is Tseng,' the Turk tells him. 'I don't have to tell you what I am. You are?'

'Nobody,' Leslie blurts out, the first thing to come to his mind.

For some reason, that makes Tseng laugh. 'Good answer,' he tells Leslie, dropping his nearly-finished cigarette on top of Altti. It smoulders against his shirt. Leslie forces himself to look away. 'But I'd like a name, please.'

'Leslie,' Leslie says. What's the point in lying? 

'Good evening, Leslie,' Tseng says, sketching an infinitesimally small bow from his waist. 'What were you doing following me?'

'Being dumb,' Leslie admits. 

'You don't strike me as an idiot,' Tseng says, tilting his head to the side. 'Believe me, I've seen quite a few cross my path, though not often more than once. A Wall Market ruffian…' He steps in closer and touches the corner of Leslie's right eye with a thumb. Leslie blinks rapidly as the stitching on Tseng's glove rubs against his eyelashes. 'But not an addict,' Tseng continues, looking at his irises. He leans in and sniffs. 'And as clean as sewer rats ever get. What do you do, Leslie?'

'I don't do anything,' Leslie says quickly. 'I just run odd jobs around the market. I'm not involved in anything, sir, please – I told you, I was just being dumb, I'm sorry I followed you.' Gaia, Leslie just wants to get out of this one alive.

Tseng just seems amused. 'That doesn't sound particularly rewarding.'

'What else am I supposed to do?' Leslie asks, incredulous. 

'Have you considered more gainful employment?' asks Tseng.

'Don't think you know how Wall Market works,' Leslie retorts before he can help himself. Oh, fuck.

All the Turk says is, 'Hm.' And then, after, 'Fair enough.'

Leslie doesn't breathe until Tseng steps back and away from him. Tseng kneels down next to Altti, who seems to have regained himself somewhat. He picks Altti up by the back of his shirt and shakes him into focusing. 

'I think, Altti, that you should offer young and enterprising Leslie a job in Don Corneo's service,' Tseng says. 

_What?_ Leslie thinks. 

'I'm sure he will go far,' Tseng continues, looking up at Leslie and catching his eye. His gaze bores holes through Leslie's head. 'Won't you, Leslie?'

'S-sure,' Leslie stammers. Fuck. This is what happens when you don't make your own choices: life chooses for you. 'Yeah. Right.'

'That's settled, then,' Tseng smiles, dropping Altti back to the ground and dusting his hands off. 'I will see you on Sunday, Altti.'

Tseng starts to head off, but just as Leslie thinks this whole weird nightmare might be over, the man pauses by his side. He reaches into his jacket again. Leslie's whole body seizes in momentary terror, but all that happens is that Tseng draws out… a name card. He reaches down and slides it into the front of Leslie's jean pocket, pushing it all the way in with the tip of a finger. 

'Leave me your number,' Tseng murmurs into his ear. His breath is warm against Leslie's skin. 'Otherwise I'll have to find it out myself; that would prove inconvenient.'

Inconvenient, Leslie suspects, for him more than Tseng. 

Tseng taps his pocket, and is gone a moment later, blending into the night as he heads off down the alleyway.

## Leslie manages to breathe normally only a full minute later. He gets his wits together as best he can and kneels down next to Altti, sliding his shoulders under the man's arms and lifting him up with a grunt. 'Come on, boss,' he says. 'Let's get you cleaned up.'

Leslie sends a PHS message to the number on the otherwise blank Shinra calling card.

 _It's me, Leslie,_ he types.

 _Hello, little one,_ comes the response. _Enjoy your first day of work._

Then nothing else.

* * *

Altti turns out to have been charged with getting a Shinra bug into one of Don Corneo's cameras inside of the mansion. It's easier with two people. Altti makes it through Sunday alive. 

* * *

Leslie gets to know the other people his age working for Corneo; they seem to like the fact that he's quiet and gets shit done without complaining. Altti takes a liking to him after it seems to click that all Leslie _wants_ is a paycheque and for people not to bother him; he almost seems to forget how he was forced to set him up with the job to begin with. Maybe the Don has trouble finding good help or something.

* * *

Two months after Leslie starts working for the Don, Altti end up dead in a back alley. Mako high overdose; it's obvious from the frothing at the mouth and the colour of his eyes. 

Leslie uses his brain and thinks to himself: _no more loose ends._

 _Was it you?_ he sends to Tseng that night, sleepless in his much-nicer new flat that no longer stinks of piss from communal restrooms. 

_One day you might become good enough to find out,_ is the reply.

Leslie puts down his PHS and rolls over onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling, night vision assisted by the constant neon glow from outside. It's nearly three in the morning and he should be asleep. So, he figures, should Tseng. 

_How am I supposed to do that?_ he sends, against his own better judgement. 

_I can help you pick up a thing or two,_ Tseng responds. _If you behave._

Leslie traces the bezel of his PHS screen with his thumbnail. If you behave. If you behave. 

He figures he better get used to the invisible collar around his neck. At least it's more comfortable than being out there on his own. 

Leslie goes to sleep, eventually. He dreams, fitfully, of being inside his own body. When he looks down at his dream-self's hands, he's wearing gloves over his usually too-pale hands. 

He's also wearing a suit.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I guess it was inevitable that I'd end up back in the Turks/Midgar rubble... Thanks to Elemental for opening the gateway portal into future Tseng/Leslie porn, which this series is most assuredly going to be now that all this unnecessary talking is over and done with.


End file.
